7.13.06

Category: dribblings

i was working at the Holy House today, and i was on a break. dad and i were sitting at the table in the shop. the shop is in the back and it’s where there’s lots of maintenance tools and things. it has a rollup door that’s usually opened, and when people leave the HCH out the back doors, they can peek in and say something like, “hi. workin’ hard? or hardly workin’?”

so there i am, sitting on a stool and drinking my weight in water because the room i’m painting doesn’t have air conditioning in it, but instead has a big hole in the wall where the air unit used to be. anyone feel sorry for me?
no?
okay, i’ll get on with the story.

so this lady walks out and looks over and sees dad and i and she makes a beeline for us. i have no idea who she is. i know she doesn’t live at the HCH. but i’ve never seen her before. she walks up and says to me, “so you’re still painting?”
i’m covered head to toe in paint.
“yes.”
“well, i’m going to be moving soon.”
and…who are you?
“really?”
“yes, i had no idea what a horrible apartment i had moved into. there’s no hot water.”
“did you pay the gas-”
“THERE’S NO HOT WATER TO THE WASHER MACHINE!”
“mhmm.”
“and that’s UNSANITARY!”
“i use cold-”
“it’s UNSANITARY! to wash in COLD WATER.”
“…”
“and my neighbor is crazy. she’s old and crazy.”

lady, i’m surrounded by old, crazy people. i’m the Mayor of Crazytown, i’m a damn EXPERT, on old AND crazy. and you have totally tripped my Crazy Radar or Craydar, as it should be called.

Craydar™

“she’s the meanest old lady i’ve ever met. i had a guy over last week helping me take the tape off my Blazer. i hate that tape, i think it looks better without the tape on so i had him help me take it off. and the neighbor lady came out and said, “are you making fun of me?” i told her that we weren’t talking about her at all and that she needed to go back inside her house and she said that i was nothing but a tramp!”

tape? tape? what the hell is she talking about, tape?

“so i called the police, ‘cos i work for an investigator and i know, and she shouldn’t call a girl from Georgia a tramp.”

“…you…called the police?”

“you damn right i did. you don’t call me a tramp!”

“and the police actually…came out?”

“well they called me back asking if i wanted to press charges. i told them not yet, ‘cos mother said i should make her apologize to me and then forget about the whole thing.”

“…”

“but if she doesn’t i’m gonna have them pick her up and she’ll have to go before a magistrate judge and tell them what she done! i know! this is Alabama and you don’t just call someone a tramp!”

she eventually walked away.

as soon as she turned the corner dad and i immediately said, at the same time, “what a fucking tramp.”

“who calls the police over something asinine like that?”

“that bitch is crazy.”

“i mean, unless there’s a threat, i don’t see any reason why the police would get involved.”

“and what if she is a tramp?”

“exactly! sorry honey, but sometimes the truth hurts.”

“if the slutty shoe fits…”

what a crazy bitch. and who walks up to a stranger and spills a dumbass story like that? honestly.
is it the heat?
can we blame that? because i’m getting paranoid that i’ve got some kind of grail-shaped beacon that i can’t see, but that crazy people can and it’s like i’m some kind of Crazy Confessional.

she called the police?!

man, the police…that’s a job i’m glad i don’t have. they work too damn hard and get paid nothing. i mean, sure, i hate the ones that have that superior attitude and all, but really, i think i’ve got it bad with crazies…those poor bastards have to deal with ALL the crazies i’m sure…not to mention all the tramps.

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